


Let Me Take Care of You

by miss_grey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Body Worship, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 08:55:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_grey/pseuds/miss_grey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a bad hunt.  Cas takes care of Dean the only way he knows how.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Take Care of You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunshinedaisysbuttermellowyellow](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sunshinedaisysbuttermellowyellow).



> I wasn't sure if it should be Mature or Explicit, so I went with the E just in case. Enjoy and please let me know what you think! It's my first time writing something like this! (This is what happens when my friend teases me with pictures of sexy showers all night long.)

 

            It was a bad hunt and they never should have gone after that spirit without double-checking their research.  What they’d thought to be one spirit haunting the bed and breakfast had turned out to be a mother-daughter duo who had been witches in life and still possessed unusual power. 

            While Dean and Cas had been busy dealing with the mother, the spirit of the daughter had seemingly come out of nowhere, power crackling in the stale air of the basement.  She’d thrown Dean into a wall and pinned him there, icy fingers wrapped around his throat, choking the life out of him, while Cas fought to get them both out alive.  He’d managed to throw Dean an iron poker before flinging salt onto the bones buried in the cellar.  Dean, frantic and fighting against the darkness growing at the corners of his vision, had swung the iron straight through the spirit’s face.  She’d disappeared, shrieking at the burn, just before Cas struck the match and with wild, righteous anger in his eyes, dropped it into the pit and watched as the two sets of bones, dry after so many years, burst into flames.  They’d had to hightail it out of there before anyone had time to realize they’d broken into the cellar and call the cops.  They’d made it, but just barely.

 

 

            That’s how Dean and Cas ended up pushing wearily through their motel room door, bruised, bloody, and aching.  Dean’s plaid shirt was in tatters and the black t-shirt he’d worn under it was torn in places as well, revealing lines of toned flesh and streaks of blood.  “Let me take a look at the damage,” Cas muttered, reaching for Dean’s shoulder to pull at the torn fabric.  But Dean wasn’t having it.  He shook Cas off with a snarl, hissing “We should never have gone in there.  We almost got ourselves killed!”  His voice cracked halfway through his outburst and he winced, fingers rubbing tenderly over the bruised flesh of his throat.

            “Dean,” Castiel admonished, pushing into Dean’s personal space.  “Let me take a look.”  Dean closed his eyes and fought to control his breathing as Cas ghosted his fingers over the hand-shaped bruises.  Dean flinched at the contact of warm fingers against the swelling.  Cas sighed.  “Come with me, Dean.  We’ll get cleaned up and then I’ll take care of your wounds.”  Dean frowned but he allowed Cas to tug him along by the hem of his torn flannel as they retreated to the clean, though slightly cramped, motel bathroom.  Cas kicked the door shut behind him and twisted the lock.

            “Come here.”  Cas murmured, reaching for Dean.  He was slightly surprised when the man took a step toward him without a fight, but Cas could see the weariness and pain etched on Dean’s face.  Cas reached out, firm yet gentle, and curled his fingers into the lapels of Dean’s over-shirt, used his grip to tug Dean forward another step until they were standing close, practically chest to chest.  “Oh, Dean,” Cas sighed, reaching up to trace his fingers across Dean’s face, mapping the ridges of Dean’s cheekbones and jaw, taking stock of every new bruise and scrape.  Dean hissed when Cas’s thumb brushed over the cut on his eyebrow.  Cas stood on his tiptoes and leaned Dean’s head down until he could brush his lips gently over the spot.  Dean’s eyes fluttered shut and Cas kissed each of them in turn before moving to Dean’s cheeks, his nose, and jaw, and finally settling on his mouth.  Their lips were both dry but their mouths still fit together perfectly.  The kiss was gentle, easy, meant only to convey comfort.  Cas didn’t linger, instead pulling away quickly to get a better look at the other man.  Dean stood calmly now, his eyes still closed, trusting as he rarely was with anyone other than Cas or Sam.

            Dean’s eyes finally flitted open, two thin rings of green almost swallowed by pupil.  He met Cas’s gaze and shifted his shoulders, began to struggle out of his layers of clothing, but he couldn’t hide the wince from Cas when he pulled at one of the cuts on his ribs.  Cas laid his hands over Dean’s, stilling him.  “Dean, you’re hurt.  Let me take care of you.”

            “You’re hurt too.”  Dean’s voice was a gruff whisper.

            “You can take care of me, later.”

            Dean never said the words but Cas knew the moment he acquiesced by the slump of his shoulders and the slight tilt of his head. 

            Cas took his time removing each layer of clothing from Dean’s body.  Strong hands slid up Dean’s chest and pushed the ripped fabric off of the hunter’s shoulders, helped it to slide down his arms until it pooled on the floor.  The t-shirt came after: Cas’s fingers deftly tugging the material up Dean’s body and over his head before dropping it into the pile.  Once it was removed, Cas allowed his hands to wander over Dean’s torso, cataloging every bump, scratch, and bruise that marred the beautiful, lightly tanned skin that Castiel had once used his grace to knit back together from nothing but atoms and memory.  Dean’s eyes, dark and hooded, followed each of Cas’s movements, but he didn’t make his own move to touch, instead keeping his arms loose at his sides.

            Cas hated the sight of blood on Dean’s skin; it was an abomination, a blasphemy.  He unbuckled Dean’s belt but didn’t bother pulling it from the loops of the dirty jeans.  He simply maneuvered his fingers to pop the button and then slowly, he pulled the zipper down; the sound of it was too loud over the thudding of both of their hearts and their increasingly shallow breaths.  Cas hooked his fingers into the waistband of both Dean’s jeans and boxers and pushed them both agonizingly slowly down Dean’s legs.  Dean shuddered when his half-hard cock bobbed free in the cool air of the motel bathroom.  “Cas…” He gritted.

            “I know,” Cas hushed, planting another kiss on Dean’s mouth before striding past Dean and turning the taps in the shower until a strong spray began to cascade inside the stall.  When Cas turned back, Dean was facing him, naked, eyes hungry.  He didn’t try to fight when Dean pulled Cas’s shirt off without finesse and pushed his jeans down roughly.

            Dean pulled Cas’s body flush against his own, hot, skin against skin, and he latched his mouth on Cas’s neck, sucking and licking at the soft skin.  Cas allowed his hands to slide down to Dean’s hips where they rested for a moment before he sighed and pushed Dean away from him.  Dean made a sound of protest as his mouth was torn away from Cas’s neck but Cas simply said “Dean, come.”  He took Dean’s hand, lacing their fingers together, and pulled the hunter into the shower after him, sliding the iced-glass door closed behind them.

            The water was hot, the pressure perfect; strong enough that Cas could feel it massaging at his sore muscles as he maneuvered both himself and Dean underneath the spray.  After a moment of shifting, he guided Dean to stand with his back to the spray so that Cas could catalogue every injury on his front.  “Are you going to let me take care of you?”  Cas murmured, taking a step closer until his and Dean’s chests brushed, until Cas’s lips could tease Dean’s ear.  Cas could feel Dean nod his reply.  “Good,” He whispered, darting his tongue out to catch at Dean’s earlobe.  He pulled back slowly, enjoying the wet slide of skin on skin, the heat of the water and their bodies trapped between them.

            Cas decided to take stock of every mark, every blemish and bruise and scrape.  Every gash and scar that marred Dean’s body.  Every single one of them a testament of Dean’s selflessness, of his enduring nature.  Every single one he’d earned since the day that Cas had fallen. 

Cas brushed his lips across Dean’s brow, exhaled his fear and relief into Dean’s skin.  He twined his fingers through the soaking strands, massaging, cradling Dean’s head in his palms, loving the way Dean’s hair flowed through his fingers with the water pouring down.

            Dean stood there, still except for the flutter of his lashes, the steady rhythm of his inhale-exhale, and took everything that Cas had to give him.

            Cas brushed fingers gently over the shell of Dean’s ears, nearly symmetrical, but now quite, down the stubborn line of his jaw, which loosened when Cas leaned forward, brushed his lips gently over Dean’s, when he allowed his tongue to flick over the jut of Dean’s chin.  “Caaaaasss….” Dean’s voice was a whine, pulled from his bruised, aching throat, when Cas nipped at his collar bones.

            Cas’s fingers trailed over Dean’s strong, broad shoulders.  One of them was sore with a mottled, inflamed contusion.  Cas swiped the pads of his fingers across it, blessing it, even if he could not take it away.  He leaned forward, kissed Dean’s nose.  Ducked his head, pressed his lips, half-open and wet with water drops, against the hollow of Dean’s throat.  “You weren’t perfect, Dean,” Cas murmured, letting his voice vibrate through Dean’s skin, “When I put you back together.”  He stroked his hands down Dean’s arms, thumbs swiping away a trickle of blood on Dean’s right bicep.  “You were born flawed, like all humans are.”  He took a slight step back, enough that when he bowed his head, reverent, he could flick his tongue over Dean’s right nipple.  It was pink, harder than the surrounding flesh, but sensitive to his touch.  Dean sucked in a breath.  Cas spent a moment, never long enough, laving it with his tongue before he turned his attention to the other.  Dean’s hands fluttered, restless at his sides, eager to touch.  But Cas knew he wouldn’t, not yet.  Cas closed his eyes, seeing, remembering.  “Not all of your imperfections can be seen.  Here,”  He pressed his palm flat against Dean’s chest.  “One of your ribs was never as strong as the others.  Yet it never broke.”  Cas leant forward and pressed his lips against Dean’s breastbone.  “I could have strengthened it, when I rebuilt your body, but I didn’t.  It wasn’t as strong as the others, but it was always good enough.”  Cas pressed his hands gently across Dean’s sides, feeling now for any fractured ribs, any indication that they hadn’t held up this time.  Dean winced, sore.  A dark bruise was already forming on his left side along with ugly, but shallow, scrapes—the result of being thrown into brick.  But nothing was broken.

            “Turn around, Dean.”  Dean did so with a sigh, his shoulders loosening as he faced the steady, oncoming spray.  The steam was thick in the shower at this point, and Cas inhaled it, allowed it to warm his lungs before he breathed out.  He splayed his hands across the broad expanse of Dean’s back, muscles shifting underneath the warmth of his palms.  “When I held you together in my hands, I marveled at your strength.  How skin,” He kissed the nape of Dean’s neck, “and muscle,” he laid another on each shoulder blade, “and bone,” he swiped his tongue along Dean’s spine “could hold a man like you on your feet.”  Cas slipped to his knees, pressed his forehead to the dip of Dean’s back, slid his palms down with him, over Dean’s hips, and back, to glide easily over the rounded swell of Dean’s ass.  “You were knocked down so many times, Dean.  Your flesh was torn, and your bones broken, shattered.  But you _kept_ getting back up.” 

            Cas stood slowly.  “Look at me, Dean.”  Dean turned then, eyes open, wide and dark.  His chest was heaving with breathy pants he fought to keep in check.  Cas took a step back and simply stared.  “When I found you in Hell, you were so damaged Dean.  You’d done it to yourself—no one else could have broken you that way, no—not even Alastair.  But you weren’t done for.  You recognized me for what I was.  You didn’t want to come with me.  Even then, you didn’t think you deserved salvation.  But you were still so bright, Dean, and though all God’s creations are made to be loved, I knew immediately that you were special.”  Cas took the remaining step back toward Dean, met his eyes.  Dean’s breath ghosted across his lips.  “And when I raised you from Perdition, Dean, I held you close to me, like this,” Cas pressed their bodies together, from chest to thigh, raised his right hand to Dean’s left shoulder, and fit it to the phantom mark, no longer visible.  “I never meant to mark you, but I didn’t regret it, either.”  Dean tipped his forehead forward to lean against Cas’s.

            “You were the perfect picture of self-destruction, but the love you bore for your brother was still with you, as well as your unbreakable will, your determination.  I saw my brothers and sisters perish in the Pit, and yet you were still… you.  After years of enduring Hell’s worst, you were still Dean Winchester.  You were beautiful.  And so I promised myself to remake you exactly as you were, because I held you in awe—you were perfect to me.”

            “Cas…” Dean’s voice was a whimper.  Cas pressed his lips softly to the edge of Dean’s mouth, gentle.

            “When I breathed life back into your body, I think I was already in love with you.”  Dean surged forward, lips colliding with Castiel’s and swallowed his startled gasp.  His fingers curled into Castiel’s hair, grasping, tugging Cas impossibly closer.  Cas slid his hands around Dean’s back, dug his blunt nails into the muscles of Dean’s shoulder blades, rocked his body forward.  Dean growled into his mouth, teeth nipping at Cas’s bottom lip.  Cas groaned when Dean’s tongue licked into his mouth, hot and insistent, slick as it slid against Castiel’s.  Dean jerked his hips forward, and Cas felt Dean’s cock, hard and hot, rub against his own.  Sparks exploded behind his eyes.  Dean  dropped his hands to Cas’s hips and aligned them with his own.  He pulled Cas forward until they could both feel the hot slide of skin against sensitive skin. 

            “Oh God, Cas….”  Cas shut him up with a harsh kiss, ending the blasphemy even as he rocked his hips insistently into Dean’s.  Dean turned them, pressed Cas back against the cool tile of the shower wall.  Cas widened his stance and Dean accommodated by standing between Cas’s feet.  They found a rhythm easily, hips rolling into each other, fingers grasping, labored breaths echoing in the otherwise silent motel bathroom.  Cas’s breath stuttered when Dean’s hand left his hip and stroked him, before his fingers wrapped around Cas’s cock in a firm grip.  Cas’s fingers tightened on Dean’s back, and he knew he was leaving his own marks, angry red crescents.  Dean stroked him quickly, from base to tip, once, twice, three times, before the low mewl was torn from his throat.  His hips jerked forward into Dean’s before his knees turned to jelly and his body went slack.  He would have collapsed if it were not for Dean’s body holding him up, still pressing him insistently into the wall.  Dean dropped his head forward into the crook of Cas’s neck and panted, breath ragged, while his hips continued to piston forward, cock grinding into Cas’s hipbone.  Cas held him close while he came down from his own high and when Dean finally came with a groan, liquid heat pulsing between them, Cas held them both up until they regained their breath and stopped shaking.

            When Dean and Cas were both steady, Dean pulled away, green eyes tired but more calm than they’d been since before the hunt.  He brushed the wet hair off of Cas’s forehead and leaned forward to kiss him once more, brief and chaste.  “Come on,” he murmured.  “Let’s get out and dry off.  It’s my turn to take care of you now.”


End file.
